Letting Go
by Mikki13
Summary: He had known this day would come, but somehow he had tricked himself into believing that it wouldn’t. HouseCameron


**Author's Note: **The following contains the song "Remember," by Disturbed.**  
**

**Dedication:** This story was created as a thank you for Tiffany, who sent me this song in order to cheer me up during an incredibly difficult week.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them. I just like to kidnap and have my way with them before sending them back for production purposes.

_And so it begins . . ._

The end of her fellowship. He had known this day would come, but somehow he had tricked himself into believing that it wouldn't. If he'd cracked just one more joke, pushed her just a little bit further, made himself believe that he didn't really care . . . then maybe they would be suspended in some vortex until he finally admitted to how he really felt. It was ridiculous, now that he thought about it. Everything that he had done to numb the fear was everything that had pushed her toward her decision to leave.

_  
Sensation washes over me / I can't describe it / Pain I felt so long ago_

He can put his finger on the exact point – almost to the moment – that he closed himself off from the world. Shut himself off from ever again having to feel the pain. It had been a couple of months after his infarction, when Stacy had announced that she was leaving. He remembered that he'd felt like the world was crashing down around his feet, pooling around his ankles. He remembered hardening his chest, forcing himself to shut off from the pain. And he remembered the sudden numbness that had seeped into his veins.

He'd held onto that numbness for so long.

_I don't remember _

But now, as she looks at him with her despondent blue-green eyes and tells him that she's found a position with another hospital . . .

. . . As he feels his heart constrict inside his chest and gives her his characteristic smirk . . .

. . . As he tells her that the doctor she'll be working for is a pompous ass, and he's not sure why she took the position in the first place . . .

. . . He tries to remember why he shut himself off to begin with.

_Tear a hole so I can see / My devastation / Feelings from so long ago / I don't remember_

And then he pops a vicodin, and forces himself to remain numb. Forces himself to remember why he made the conscious decision never to let anyone in again.

This task is made much harder when she steps up to his desk and holds out her hand. Suddenly, he's brought back to a time four years in the past when she made the very same gesture.

That time, he'd let her leave.

_Holding on, to let them know / What's given to me, given to me / To hide behind /  
The mask this time / And try to believe_

His smirk falters, his eyes straying to her hand. His own hand is itching to reach out and take hers, but somehow he can't bring himself to do it. Maybe if he forces her to keep her hand extended, it'll somehow force her to stay. Remain in the vortex that he has created.

So he refuses to take her hand, instead crossing his arms over his chest. "Stop being so formal," he chides her as he leans back in his chair.

But a mask has slipped over his features. Because he doesn't really believe that this is going to work.

_Blind your eyes to what you see / You can't embrace it_

She blinks and drops her hand, attempting to mask her own features. But the hurt reflected in her face is apparent. It's all he can do to remain in his chair, blind his eyes to her desolate expression. Continue to smirk. He can't let himself feel.

Even though the effort is getting that much more difficult.

_Leave it well enough alone / And don't remember_

Her lips curl upward into their own smirk, but he sees the pain underneath. "So that's it?" she asks. "After four years of working together, this is how we're going to leave it?"

"What did you have in mind?" he asks, deciding to mask his uncertainty with a witty barb. "Hot sex in Exam Room Two?"

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Same old House," she says, shaking her head. And then she turns serious, and her eyes lock with his. "I'm going to miss it."

He matches her gaze with his own, forcing himself to remain nonchalant. But then her eyes begin to water, and perhaps it is this more than anything that causes her to turn around and head toward the door. His chest constricts.

Suddenly, he's no longer in his chair. "Cameron!" he's calling, grabbing his cane and stepping up to her. "Wait."

"Why?" she asks, but does not turn around. She can hear the desperation in his voice, and it scares her.

_Cut your pride and watch it bleed_

He tries to force himself to be witty, to tell her that she forgot to make his coffee or something equally foolish. But his mouth has other ideas. "Don't go," it says, and he swallows visibly.

Her stomach has curled itself into a knot and her breath has caught in her throat. "Why?" she repeats, still turned toward the door. Away from him.

He takes a deep breath, trying to decide whether or not he wants to go further. It is a losing battle, and suddenly it's as if he's watching from afar as someone cuts his pride and watches it bleed. "Because I don't want you to," he says.

_You can't deny it_

But after all these years of torment and heartache, she's not going to make it that easy for him. So as she turns from the door, she carefully puts her mask in place and crosses her arms over her chest. "Why?" she repeats for the third time, staring at the floor.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. Swallows. Opens it again. "Because . . ." he trails off. How the hell does he tell her how he feels? "Because I care," he says. "About you."

_Pain you know you can't ignore / I don't remember_

And even though he knows he can't ignore the pain that's still writhing within his gut, when he looks at her – slight traces of hope and affection mingled with fear beginning to show on her face – he somehow starts to forget.

_Holding on, to let them know / What's given to me, given to me_

"Why are you just telling me now?" she whispers, still holding her arms close to her chest as she continues to look at the floor.

"I like to procrastinate," he replies, and the smirk once again finds itself onto his lips. "Makes life more interesting."

The comment causes her to briefly chuckle, and it's enough to allow some of the tension to seep away. "You're an ass," she tells him simply.

"I am," he admits. "Are you going to go?"

She pauses, considering. "I'm not sure," she finally says. "What would happen if I stayed?" She still hasn't fully looked at him.

It's a fair question, but he finds that he doesn't really have an answer. "I don't know," he admits, and then finds himself falling back into humor. "We could try the spandex thing."

"House . . ." she chides, needing to be serious. About this one thing, at least.

"Or we could just play it by ear," he says, relenting. Needing to hold onto the second chance that it appears he might be getting.

She hesitates, but then finally meets his gaze. "We could do that," she agrees.

_To hide behind / The mask this time / And try to believe / If I can / Remember / To know this will / Conquer me / If I can / Just walk alone / And try to escape / Into me_

Their eyes lock, years of pent-up emotions reflected in their depths. He knows that it will not be easy. His instinct might always be to escape back into himself, to hide behind a mask as he allows the pain to conquer him.

_Sensation washes over me / I can't describe it / Pain I felt so long ago / I don't remember_

But as he looks deep within her startlingly blue-green eyes, and the emotions make their way into his veins . . .

. . . As he steps forward and awkwardly wraps his arms around her lithe frame, and breathes in her scent . . .

. . . As she leans her head against his chest and places her own arms around his back . . .

. . . He realizes that he's starting to forget the pain he felt so long ago.

_  
Fin._

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